


step by step, piece by piece

by turntechGodhead



Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Dissociation, Flashbacks, M/M, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, anyway they love each other and It Helps, but like he wants to, just a guy tryna figure out some coping mechanisms, just another guy who isn't really fit to help, not as slowburn as the game itself tho, slowburn
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-09-30
Updated: 2019-10-11
Packaged: 2020-11-08 13:57:22
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 5
Words: 7,582
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20836619
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/turntechGodhead/pseuds/turntechGodhead
Summary: The hardest part is stopping himself from slipping into the memories— when they become so intense the room starts dissolving around him and he can see, hear, smell, taste, and feel the memories like they’re happening to him all over again.What pulls him out, again and again, is Felix.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> it's been a minute since i played through AM route and i miss dimitri's sweet ass

Dimitri still feels disoriented— like he’s been in a fugue state for the past several years and he’s only starting to get to know himself again. Some pieces of the last few years feel viciously real, like he can still feel the blood drying on his hands and he can smell the sweat and stink of battle if he lets himself sink into the memories. Some pieces feel fuzzy and distant, bleeding into each other and becoming memories he’s not sure ever happened.

The hardest part is stopping himself from slipping into the memories— when they become so intense the room starts dissolving around him and he can see, hear, smell, taste, and feel the memories like they’re happening to him all over again.

What pulls him out, again and again, is Felix.

Felix is the one thing his brain can’t seem to warp into something else. He always stands out when Dimitri starts slipping. He’s a kind of beacon that anchors him in the time and place. What makes him stand out most of all is, whenever they’re in a room together, Felix has taken to speaking to Dimitri rather than aggressively ignoring him. It isn’t much; sometimes a word of greeting, sometimes just wondering aloud what Dimitri thinks of the plan— but it’s always kind. 

And he always refers to him as _ Dimitri._

_\--_

He’s starting to learn himself. Before the memories overwhelm him, the world around him feels less material— like it might bend or shift and become a different world altogether, and Dimitri wouldn’t be surprised. When he feels that way, he looks to Felix.

Tonight, he’s on his own when it starts. He catches himself staring at the dim flame of his candle, the flicker of it almost hypnotic, the thoughts in his head tinny and echoing, bouncing around in the hollow cavern of his head. He looks down at the parchment spread out over his desk and finds that he can’t remember what he was writing, even when he tries to read back the last few sentences.

There’s no room in his head for the words. They blur together, morph into new ones. The penmanship looks like his uncle's retainer's penmanship, though he knows he's the one that wrote it. Outside his shutters, the icy winds of Faerghus batter the glass window, though he is miles and miles from Faerghus.

He gets up abruptly, picking up his candle holder and dropping his quill, letting it fall where it may. He’s never sought Felix out before— Felix just always seems to be nearby when he needs him. Distantly, the thought that Felix may be angry with him for waking him up at this hour nudges at him. He would be right to be. Felix’s demeanor toward him has changed, but by no means has he made overtures of closeness or implied that he’d like such a thing.

Still, he finds himself making the short walk to Felix’s bedroom door and knocking. It takes but a moment for Felix to answer.

“Dimitri,” he says, looking up at him with his brows furrowed. He looks awake— eyes bright and focused— but he’s dressed down to his smallclothes with his hair loose about his shoulders, the lamp on his desk snuffed out.

“Hello, Felix,” he says. His voice sounds strange to his own ears— distant, almost. “I’m sorry to bother you at this hour.”

Felix blinks up at him, then looks down either end of the hall as though searching for anyone else who’d followed Dimitri. 

“What is it?” He pulls his door open wider, standing in the threshold. “What could you need of me right now?”

Dimitri doesn’t know how to answer that right away. How can he explain what he needs of Felix without sounding insane? He half expects Felix to slam the door shut in his face when he takes too long to explain himself, but he doesn’t. He stays standing in the threshold and looking up at Dimitri with his brows knitted in confusion. 

“I...I feel strange,” he says slowly. “Not ill. Just— not right.”

That makes Felix’s eyes darken with worry. It’s plain on his face—in the way his mouth tightens and his knitted brows move up a fraction.

“What does that mean?”

Dimitri looks at the flame of his candle, flickering with the unsteadiness of his hand. All of him feels unsteady; his skin feels thin and cool, insides like jellied meat.

“May I come in?” he says, knowing it’s too bold. “I’m really sorry to impose.”

Felix’s eyes widen in surprise, but he nods and steps out of the way, holding the door open.

“Dimitri— what’s the matter?”

Dimitri steps inside and waits for Felix to shut the door before answering. He lets Felix take the lamp from his fingers and watches as he lights his own with the flame. Soft, orange light fills the room from the two lamps and Dimitri realizes he’d felt the cold of Faerghus in the room until now. Seeing Felix in the fuller light, dressed down for the relative warmth and humidity of Garreg Mach, reminds him.

“I keep behaving as though I am in Fhirdiad,” he starts, sitting down unsteadily in the chair at Felix’s desk. “That is...I keep believing I am in Fhirdiad...and then remembering that I am not.”

“How do you mean?” asks Felix, sitting at the edge of his mattress. “Tonight?”

“Tonight,” he confirms, pushing a hand back through his hair. “But sometimes other times. Sometimes other places.”

Felix mirrors his motion, pushing the dark strands of his hair away from his face, glossy in the candlelight. The look on his face is heavy, shadows deepening the the hollows of his eyes.

“You’re here, Dimitri. At the monastery.”

“Yes,” he agrees, pressing his hands against his knees. “I know you’re right.”

“What do you need me to say?”

Dimitri shakes his head. “Anything you please. It helps me step away from the memories when you speak to me.”

Felix raises his eyebrows, leaning forward slightly.

“This happens often?”

He nods, swallowing back the shame that comes with it. He knows Felix is still struggling to consolidate that Dimitri can both a man and a monster— and nothing makes him feel quite so monstrous as falling into the visceral memories of his strife and struggle. But he won’t lie to Felix just to remain in his good graces.

“Often. In different ways, but often. Not as bad as before, but...I’m still…”

“I see.” Felix rubs the space between his eyebrows, squeezing his eyes shut for a moment. “So...you want me to talk to you.”

“Yes.”

“About anything?”

“Yes. Please.”

Felix winces at him, narrowing his eyes uncertainly.

“I’m not good for pleasant conversation. I never have been.”

Dimitri feels a smile pull at the corners of his mouth. Pleasant or unpleasant, that means Felix is willing. Even though Dimitri has barged into his room in the middle of the night, he’s willing to spend a while speaking to him.

“That’s fine. It doesn’t have to be pleasant.”

He nods slowly in response, turning his eyes down to his knees and pushing his hair behind his ear as he thinks.

“You know...I hate feeling ungrateful, but…” He brings his gaze back up, narrowing his eyes slightly at Dimitri. “I hate when they serve any sort of meat in a berry sauce in the dining hall. I just don’t understand how that appeals to anyone.”

Dimitri laughs, and it catches even him by surprise. Of all the things he thought Felix might choose to say to him, that was nowhere near any of the possible items on his list. He covers his mouth apologetically, but Felix does not smile.

“I mean it,” he says, missing whatever is funny about it to Dimitri. “It’s disgusting. And it looks ugly as well.”

“I don’t think I can agree with you there,” says Dimitri, feeling some of the warmth seeping back into his clammy fingers. “Milk sauces look worse. They ought to just use cheese instead.”

Felix wrinkles his nose in disdain. 

“I wouldn’t have tried to defend milk sauces in the first place. One being particularly bad does not mean I think everything else is palatable.”

Dimitri smiles. His head still feels a bit like an empty rattle, but he feels present.

“Ah, right. Presumptuous of me.

The night stretches on, and Felix does not ask Dimitri to leave though he does get irritated with him more than once. The strangest part of it all is how low stakes it all feels. Watching Felix, rigid and controlled as ever, making benign conversation with him until the birds start singing outside and the night sky through the window shifts from black to blue. Dimitri can’t recall the last time they spoke for so long without Felix abruptly leaving and making excuses of varying legitimacy.

He could ask Dimitri to leave— he has every reason to, given the hour and the request. But he doesn’t. It’s Dimitri that excuses himself once his head starts feeling solid and upright on his shoulders again.

“Thank you,” he says before stepping out the door. “Seriously. It means a lot to me.”

Felix clicks his tongue dismissively, turning away from him to blow out his lamp and deepen the shadows in his room. Dimitri can still see the embarrassment on his face from the blue light of early morning coming from the window. 

“I didn’t do anything,” he says.

Dimitri doesn’t counter him. Felix knows well enough what he’s done, and it isn’t worth embarrassing him now anyway.

“Good night,” he offers.

Felix huffs through his nose and crosses the distance to the door, pushing it shut and nudging Dimitri the rest of the way out along with it.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Felix...is Felix. He sticks to the wall on the far side of the banquet hall and watches with apprehension. He’s never been one for celebrations, Dimitri knows. But there’s an exhaustion weighing down his body, as though he bears an invisible iron yoke across his shoulders.

There’s little time to spare these days, but they do celebrate after retaking Fhirdiad. It’s jarring being back home— Dimitri can tell the others feel it, too. Sylvain keeps the practiced, easy smile on his face, but he holds his shoulders proud and rigid, almost defensive. In spite of the bountiful feast provided for the celebration, Ingrid’s fervor for the food seems tempered by the sentimentality clouding her eyes.

Felix...is Felix. He sticks to the wall on the far side of the banquet hall and watches with apprehension. He’s never been one for celebrations, Dimitri knows. But there’s an exhaustion weighing down his body, as though he bears an invisible iron yoke across his shoulders.

Dimitri knows his role as Crown Prince and victor of the recapture is to show strength and optimism to his people. He’s trying, though confident smiles still feel awkward and unfamiliar on his face. However, his eyes keep flitting across the room, counting his friends. The professor, Felix, Dedue, Sylvain, Ingrid— everyone. He knows they won’t disappear, but every time he takes his eyes off of them, an unreasonable fear starts climbing up the back of his throat. 

Dedue is by his side, as ever. Dimitri notices his eyes scanning the room repeatedly as well, and it makes him feel better. It isn’t unreasonable to feel wary—not after all they’ve suffered in Fhirdiad and certainly after fighting a battle with someone like Cornelia.

“How are you holding up, Dedue?” he asks, wincing sympathetically.

Dedue looks at him and inclines his head. “Well, Your Highness.”

Dimitri raises his eyebrows. “Well?”

“Well enough,” he amends. “I’ll be glad to move on. This is good for morale, however.”

“Yes. It doesn’t do to dwell on war plans every minute of every day.”

If Dedue thinks it’s ironic to hear Dimitri say something like that, he doesn’t say it. He only nods his agreement and casts his eyes about the room again. Dimitri does the same and finds everyone, except for one.

“Where did Felix go?” He looks around again, counting each head.

“The courtyard,” says Dedue without missing a beat. “I saw him go through the doors.”

Dimitri can’t help the worry that rises up in him. Felix has been through a lot without saying much. Being in Fraldarius territory would probably draw more and deeper feelings out of him, but Dimitri can’t imagine it’s easy for him to be back in Faerghus after the loss of his father.

“I’m going to check on him,” he says, heading that way.

Dedue hovers, brow pinched like he wants to say something to that. Dimitri gets it; Felix isn’t always in the mood for Dimitri. Historically, he was never in the mood. But Dimitri knows better now than he did then— if Felix wants to be alone, then he will leave him be.

“I won’t be long, Dedue. Find me if anything.”

Dedue accepts that as an answer and nods, staying in his place and squaring his shoulders. He looks so solemn Dimitri wants to ask him to have at least a little fun, but he knows he’d be hypocritical to ask when dancing and dining aren’t his idea of fun either.

He slips out through the large, ornamental doors and steps down the marble steps, gleaming under the light from the brass sconces. Outside feels cool compared to the typical weather at the monastery, but for Fhirdiad it’s a balmy Harpstring night. The courtyard hasn’t been properly cared for in some time— it was no priority for Cornelia, he supposes. But flowers have survived and overgrown, primroses crawling toward the path and camellia shrubs towering far above him, their glossy leaves reaching up towards the stars.

He barely spots Felix among the shrubs, his hair as dark as the shadows around him, only visible for the way it reflects the light from the moon and stars.

“Felix,” he calls, approaching him slowly. “Are you alright?”

“Do I not seem alright?” he asks, turning to look at him.

Dimitri smiles before he can stop himself and shrugs his shoulders.

“I don’t know. That is why I’m asking.”

Felix rolls his eyes. They look dark under all the shadows, and his face ethereally pale. It’s interesting, how he always looks dark and bright at the same time.

“I’ve not been out here a minute. Stop fretting.”

“If you’re just looking to have a moment alone, I can go. I just wanted to make sure you were okay. It’s a lot, being back here.”

Felix turns his eyes back toward the glossy leaves and the pale pink flowers of the shrubs, sighing through his nose. Dimitri waits for him to say something, watching the firm set of his narrow shoulders.

“It is a lot,” he agrees at length. “Have you… felt like yourself tonight?”

Though the phrasing is awkward, Dimitri knows he means to ask after his delusions. He mulls that over for a moment, letting the silence stretch between them. Felix doesn’t seem to mind it. He keeps his face turned away, reaching out and touching the petals of a blossom with the pad of his finger.

“Strangely, I’ve felt quite present tonight.” He closed the distance between them more, coming close enough to touch the leaves of Felix’s blossom. “Maybe it helps, seeing Fhirdiad as it is and not haunted by ghosts.”

He feels Felix freeze beside him for a moment, spooked by the proximity. Just before Dimitri decides whether or not to step away again, his shoulders relax a fraction and he sees his gaze go from the pale petals to Dimitri’s fingers.

“Things are as they should be,” he says softly. “Fhirdiad is where you belong.”

“Things are not quite as they should be yet.”

Felix huffs through his nose impatiently. “You, here. The crown falling to you.  _ That _ is as it should be. I do not pretend to believe our struggles are over.”

Dimitri smiles, cowed. Without even trying, irritating Felix must be his number one talent.

“But the tide is changing, yes. You’re right. I agree.”

“Perhaps that helps,” Felix says, tipping his face up to meet Dimitri’s eyes for a moment. “The tide changing. Pieces falling into place.”

“And you, by my side throughout this all. It helps, I agree.”

Felix takes a step away from him, deeper into the overgrown path among the flowers. He turns his face away so Dimitri can’t see his expression, but even in the soft moonlight Dimitri can tell his ears have flushed scarlet. He squeezes his hands into fists and releases them, frustrated. Dimitri shouldn’t push his luck, but he stays where he is, watching him.

“What about you, Felix? Does it help?”

“Help what?”

“Anything. Ease some of the weight of your grief?”

Felix looks back at him, face still flushed. His expression is earnest, but guarded; eyes round with honesty but jaw tight with unwillingness to speak. After a pause, he gives Dimitri a short nod and casts his eyes down to the toes of his boots.

“Some.”

A smile breaks across Dimitri’s face, warmth blooming in his chest as his shoulders loosen in relief. That means more than he has the words to express. Even if he had them, Felix with his flushed face could not bear to hear them now. He nods in return, releasing a sigh.

“I’m glad.”


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dimitri sees the moment Felix’s whole body goes rigid, lit up by the Thoron blast, but in the next second he’s on his hands and knees with his sword practically fused to his hand.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i wrote this because i love the thoron scar stuff by @guessibetter on twitter and i think about felix having lichtenberg scars every single day of my life

Felix collapses, but he doesn’t lose consciousness. Dimitri sees the moment Felix’s whole body goes rigid, lit up by the Thoron blast, but in the next second he’s on his hands and knees with his sword practically fused to his hand. Mercedes hurries to his side, but as soon as she begins to flood his wounds with healing magic the shock of the blast gives way to pain and Felix faints in short order.

In the heat of battle, everything feels blurred to Dimitri. He sees Felix on the ground, and he sees Glenn. It’s like they’re both there, perfectly superimposed over each other. Rodrigue’s dying words ring deafening in his head— so loud Dimitri wants to pound on his ears to silence them. Glenn, Rodrigue, Felix. It makes the rage rise up the back of his throat like hot, venomous bile, and he rounds on the mage that attacked Felix. 

This feels good. His spear drives through the man’s throat and out the other side, making him choke and gurgle on his own cries. Dimitri kicks him off the end of his spear by smashing his foot against the man’s solar plexus, then stands with one foot planted on him where he falls, driving the spear through the bloody hole of his open mouth.

He rips the spear out again when the man begins twitching underfoot. Faintly, he hears Sylvain calling for him but he doesn’t turn to look at him until Sylvain grips his shoulder and shakes it.

He breathes hard, trying to make sense of what Sylvain is saying, but his ears are full with the sound of his blood pounding in his head and he can’t focus on any one part of his face. Sylvain pulls on his shoulder, turning him bodily to look at Felix and Mercedes on the ground.

The pounding in his head starts to slow at the sight. Looking at Felix pale and motionless on the ground makes Dimitri feel like he’s swallowed a thousand iron spikes, all tearing him up from his throat down to his stomach. There’s no Glenn— only Felix, blood seeping from his ears. The panic must show on his face because when he rushes over to him, Mercedes holds her free hand up soothingly.

“He’ll be okay,” she says. “It’s just painful. He’ll have to go straight to the infirmary when we get back.”

It takes him a long moment to register what she’s saying and his brain feels too scrambled to form words, but he nods that he understands her. His head swims and his lungs ache, but they’ve tied up this battle and Felix will live.

That’s good. That matters.

He looks around in a panic, but as far as he can see, Felix’s is the worst injury anyone in their party sustained. The battle is as good as over, Ingrid and Ashe chasing after the few retreating bandits. Sylvain stands beside him, shaking his shoulder bracingly and looking into his face with his brows knitted in concern.

“I’m fine,” he says, though his voice still feels weird and tinny in his skull. “Let’s— let’s see to the wounded.”

—

Felix is a nightmare in the infirmary. Professor Manuela has complained “officially” twice to Dimitri and at least as many times to the professor, though it hasn’t yet been a full day since Felix regained consciousness. By Manuela’s reports, he refuses to stay in bed and spends the hours arguing, trying to escape, and destroying things in frustration.

Professor Manuela is dramatic; everyone knows that to be true. However, Dimitri can’t imagine her reports are too far off the mark.

After the group lessons, Dimitri comes to the infirmary to see the situation for himself. As he enters, he finds Felix out of bed and in his leggings, pacing the infirmary floor furiously. Manuela rubs her temples at the far end of the room, breathing deeply and trying to find her patience.

“Professor, I’ve come to relieve you for a little while,” he says in greeting. “I’ll look after the patient, so please go have a short rest.”

Manuela doesn’t need telling twice. She almost laughs, though her face is mirthless, and gathers her robe around her as she strides past Felix and grips Dimitri’s arm gratefully.

“Bless you,” she says, casting a narrowed glance back at Felix. “I won’t complain if you use those big muscles to knock some sense into him.”

Felix laughs derisively, left hand clenching into a fist and shoulders rounding. “I wish he’d try. I wish  _ anyone  _ would try right now.”

Manuela throws her hands up and makes an indignant sound, shaking her head as she storms out of the infirmary. Dimitri bites his lip. It shouldn’t be funny, but it is.

“That’s not very nice, Felix. But I’m glad to see you looking well.”  
Felix huffs a dismissive sigh and waves a hand at him, glaring out through the infirmary window. His energy is so pent up inside him, Dimitri can almost see it radiating from him in vicious spikes. He feels for him in that moment; it isn’t easy for him to lie in an infirmary bed either.

“I  _ am  _ well,” he says, voice rough with hostility “I’ve been here long enough.”

“You’ve only been awake for a half day.”

“And I’ve been  _ well _ the whole time! I want to go to the training grounds. I want to hold my sword. What use will I be to us in Deridru if an average lowlife can take me out like that?”

Dimitri doesn’t bother to remind him that, bandit or not, the person who took him out had to be a skilled mage with excellent reflexes. There’s nothing average about being talented enough to land an attack on someone as swift, nimble, and strong as Felix, lowlife or not. Instead, he sits at the edge of one of the beds and watches him pace, catching sight of the fresh pink scars crawling along Felix’s arm, shoulder, and back.

“And what use will you be if you neglect your care and have to sit out the rescue at Deridru?”

Felix’s head whips over to look at him, eyes hard and narrowed to slits.

“You don’t get to decide that.”

“And you believe the professor won’t heed my advice? Or Manuela’s?”

Felix slams his good fist against the stone wall so hard the bricks seem to rattle, face going blotchy red with fury.

“You need me,” he demands, pacing over to Dimitri and standing over him. Sitting, Dimitri is only a centimeter or two shorter than Felix standing, but his aura is intimidating all the same. “We’ll be protecting Claude— who can cut a path through enemy lines faster than I?”

“No one,” Dimitri agrees. “So I need you to recover to Manuela’s standards before taking up your sword again.”

Felix lifts his sword arm— the one injured in the attack. The pale skin is marred by pink scars from his palm all the way up his arm and across his back, the scars spreading in every direction like the webbing veins on a leaf. It doesn’t make Dimitri wince, but his throat feels tighter at the sight of it. He flexes his fingers and the movement is stiff and staggered.

“I need to start using this hand. It feels wrong— I need to hold a sword and reacclimate.”

“You need to wait. Professor Manuela will  _ tell  _ you when your hand is ready for that. Trust her expertise; this is what she does.”

Felix bites back his response, staring at Dimitri hard for a few seconds. He turns on his heel and paces away and Dimitri watches the way his back muscles shift under the intricate web of scars. When he comes back, he takes a deep breath and lets it out slowly, pushing a hand through the loose hair at the front of his face.

“Fine,” he spits. “ _ Fine _ . I’ll wait a bit longer. But I’m no invalid. Tell that woman she’s not to leave me here as long as she pleases.”

Dimitri can’t help laughing at that, shaking his head.

“Believe me, Felix. She’ll give you the all clear as soon as she can.”

It shocks him when Felix sits beside him, so much so that he almost stands upright. He’s on his left side, so Dimitri stays as still as he can, looking at him sidelong like he’s a deer or a rabbit that might spook if he moves too quickly. Felix doesn’t seem to notice he’s done anything unusual, propping his elbows on his knees and slouching over with an aggravated sigh.

“Do they hurt still?” he asks, eyeing the scars along his arm. Up close, they’re more than he realized before—thin, barely visible ones web out from the thicker ones, all around his fingers, his arm, his shoulder, some even crawl up his neck.

He shakes his head, spreading his fingers again. “Stiff. Like my arm is made of rusty metal.”

Dimitri can’t imagine that doesn’t hurt, but he nods and turns his body slightly to look at Felix face on. He holds his hands out flat and raises his brows.

“May I see?”

Felix straightens his shoulders and shoots Dimitri a look that’s equal parts puzzled and alarmed. He looks down at Dimitri’s outstretched hands and flexes his fingers again, a line forming between his eyebrows.

He places his hand in Dimitri’s.

Dimitri closes his fingers around Felix’s hand, running his thumbs along the length of his palm experimentally. It does feel stiff— as though the muscle under Felix’s calloused skin were thousands of strands of metal. His eyes trace the path up from the center of Felix’s palm to the top of his shoulder and he grimaces at the idea of what that must feel like going all the way up.

“I’m sorry that happened,” he says.

Felix shrugs his other shoulder. “I lived.”

“I know.” Dimitri places one hand under Felix’s and covers it with the other. “I’m so grateful for that.”

Felix leans away from him, though he leaves his hand where it is. His cheeks go red and the flush spreads all the way down to his chest. He makes a displeased sound, somewhere between a grumble and a growl, but Dimitri presses on all the same.

“Don’t die on me.”

“You’re being ridiculous.” Felix turns his face away, huffing at him.

“I know. But please don’t.”

He stays quiet and Dimitri waits it out, watching the flush rise up the elegant curve of the nape of his neck. He feels Felix’s fingers curve against the palm of his hand before he answers.

“I don’t intend to, Dimitri. Just make sure you make it to your coronation.”

Dimitri smiles, “I’ll be there if you are.”

Felix turns to look at him, eyes sharp and teeth clenched. “You are  _ so  _ irritating.”


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dimitri feels… tired. There’s too much left for him to think about slowing down, but all the relief and the smiles from his friends make him feel warm and ready to sleep for about a thousand years. Ironically, he still struggles to sleep a full night when he gets the opportunity. But the desire is there.

Deridru is a decisive victory, which seems to lift everyone’s spirits. Claude’s decision to take off puzzles everyone and they hear nothing of him in the weeks that follow, but with the Alliance now bolstering their power and numbers, there’s a clear change in the mood at the monastery. 

As a result, Dimitri feels…  _ tired _ . There’s too much left for him to think about slowing down, but all the relief and the smiles from his friends make him feel warm and ready to sleep for about a thousand years. Ironically, he still struggles to sleep a full night when he gets the opportunity. But the desire is there. 

Tonight, Dimitri has exhausted the duties he can fulfill within the confines of his room. He’s read through his letters and proposals, written responses, researched what he can of Fort Merceus with the books he borrowed from the library… and now, nothing. His brain itches today in a way he can’t quite explain. It feels restless, like it would like to dig its way out of his skull. He knows if he manages to fall asleep tonight, he will be plagued with all the typical nightmares. The best way he knows how to avoid them is to exhaust himself so thoroughly he falls into a couple hours of dreamless sleep. 

He makes up his mind to go to the training grounds, knowing them to be empty at this hour. He dresses in his linen shirt and leggings and slips as quietly as he can through his door and down the hallway.

The nights at the monastery are incredibly hot during the Blue Sea moon. Even with the sun gone, it’s like the stones and the earth have soaked in all the heat from the daytime and breathe it out at night. By the time Dimitri makes it to the training grounds, even just being in a shirt and leggings feels like too much. Sweat beads at his hairline and along the span of his shoulders as he steps into the arena and tests the weight of his spear in his hand. 

He misses Faerghus in that moment, a sharp pang in his stomach. As he goes into his stance and brandishes his weapon, he offers a small, informal prayer in his mind for the war to end soon, with as little tragedy as possible, and that he can return to Faerghus with all his friends and have the opportunity to show the professor how beautiful Fhirdiad can be without battles marring it.

The sound of his spear stabbing through the air to the beat of his feet upon the ground is soothing. Dimitri likes the way his body flows into the movements easily, memorized by his muscles. Without an opponent or even a dummy to aim his blows at, he doesn’t have to remember to temper his strength as much. He hopes it’ll tire him out faster, as long as he doesn’t snap the spear in his hands.

It isn’t until he hears the sound of a training sword being swung experimentally behind him that he realizes he isn’t alone. He flourishes his spear as he whirls around and when he faces Felix, Felix smirks at him for showing off.

Dimitri raises his eyebrows, a smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. He takes the defensive just in time for Felix to come at him.

“Did you follow me here?”

Felix backs off when Dimitri counters his attack, stalking in front of him like a cat. “I heard you and wondered what had you up so late.”

Dimitri lowers his spear and offers a helpless shrug. “The usual, I suppose.”

Felix stops his stalking for a moment, fingers flexing around the hilt of his sword. His scars have started to go from vivid pink to pale and he’s regained much of his mobility. Despite the quick rate of progress, he’s always raring to go in the training grounds. It shouldn’t surprise Dimitri that he sniffed out a possible spar.

Though it always surprises him, a little, that Felix doesn’t mind sparring with him anymore.

Felix looks at him, taking a moment to decide what he wants to say.

“Will you spar with me?”

“Of course,” says Dimitri, twirling his spear again. “I’m waiting on you.”

He knows Felix doesn’t feel he’s back up to his own standard, but fending off his attacks, Dimitri knows he’s still every bit a force to be reckoned with. He’s fast and the force of his attacks push Dimitri back considerably despite the difference in weight between them.

It makes him proud— of Felix, and that Felix considers him a worthy opponent for a spar. All of his friends make him proud, but he knows how deeply Felix throws himself into mastering the sword. It’s beautiful watching him, being at the end of his attacks. Knowing that, in a universe where Dimitri had pushed him too far away, fending him off would be no easy task.

The sparring ends when Dimitri really does snap his spear in two. He curses as the wood splinters in his hand and drops the pieces, picking the shards of wood out of his skin. Felix stares at him with wide, round eyes— and then laughs. It’s short; only a couple surprised  _ ha _ ’s, but Dimitri’s face floods with heat at the sound of it. That’s a sound he hasn’t heard in a  _ very  _ long time.

“Oh, what’s your problem?” says Felix, clicking his tongue irritably as he misinterprets Dimitri’s blush. “It’s funny. You should’ve known better than to think that measly spear could survive your brute strength.”

Dimitri gathers up the pieces of his spear and puts them aside. “No, you’re right. It’s funny.” He walks over to the edge of the wall and drops down, sitting with his back pressed against it.

Felix furrows his brows, but follows him. He tries to do a small flourish with his sword on the way and fumbles it slightly, but catches it at the last second. That’s good. His dexterity is coming back quickly.

“Are you tired already?”

Dimitri sighs and looks up at him. They’re both damp with sweat in the seasonal heat, their shirts sticking to them. The hair framing Felix’s face sticks to his skin, and Dimitri knows he isn’t any better off.

“I’ve  _ been  _ tired.” He pats the ground beside him and watches Felix consider the invitation with conflicted eyes. “I came here to become more tired.”

Felix doesn’t stay conflicted for much longer, sighing and settling down on the ground beside him in the end. He sets the sword down, wiping his face with the sleeve of his linen shirt, and leans his head back against the wall, looking at Dimitri sidelong.

“Do you struggle to sleep because of…” He presses his lips together, reaching for words in his head. “How you feel sometimes?”

Dimitri nods. Felix still has some trepidation about asking over his delusions, but Dimitri has no fear of admitting to them to him anymore.

“Yes. Even when I don’t feel it too intensely… I get these vivid dreams. Nightmares.”

“About Duscur,” says Felix, folding his hands together and fidgeting with the scars that wind around his fingers.

“Yes. Duscur. And… everything, really. Reliving the darkest, most painful parts of my life while I’m trying to rest. Or reliving them, but slightly different.”

He presses the heel of his hand against his good eye, trying to block out some of the images that flash through his mind when he thinks of his nightmares. The flames, the blood, the rolling eyes and lolling tongues of heads separated from their bodies.

Felix’s fingers curling loosely around his wrist makes him start. He drops his hand from his eye and looks at him, but Felix has his face turned away.

“I can’t say I know what it’s like for you,” he says, “but I understand sleeping and getting no rest. I understand nightmares.”

Dimitri looks down at the hand around his wrist. It’s his sword hand, covered in vein-like scars. It isn’t like Felix to try to empathize, and Dimitri doesn’t know what he can say that won’t make Felix try to backpedal the attempt. He swallows nervously and lowers his arm so his hand slips into Felix’s instead. He holds it firmly, palms pressed together, thumb following the pattern of scars across the bumps of his knuckles.

“I see. Then… let’s rest here a while.”

“ _ Here _ ?” Felix starts turning his head back around but he doesn’t look at Dimitri, keeping his eyes down. His cheeks have gone bright red, even in the dim light of the arena torches.

Dimitri nods and tries, experimentally, to slip his fingers in the gaps between Felix’s. His fingers stay pressed together firm for a moment but before Dimitri gives up the venture they yield, welcoming the gesture. He’s not sure which of their palms have gone clammy— possibly both of them— but it’s worth it. Even in his exhaustion, his heart is racing.

“Here,” he confirms. “Just a little while.”

Felix grumbles something Dimitri doesn’t catch under his breath, but he doesn’t complain or try to move. The silence between them is thick with all the words racing through their heads for a bit, but eventually the quiet feels soft and peaceful between them.

\--  
  


When Dimitri wakes with his cheek pressed against Felix’s hair and Felix’s head pillowed on his shoulder, he doesn’t remember falling asleep. However, Felix’s whole body looks looser and calmer than he’s seen it in ages and the expression on his sleeping face is downright serene.

So he doesn’t wake him. He leans into him a while longer.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It isn’t unusual for soldiers to share their bedrolls on the march back home from battle. Dimitri has never done it before, but certainly he’s seen Sylvain slip into others’ tents or invite others to join him and he isn’t alone in the practice. The march back from Fort Merceus is a fairly long one and, though spirits are high after the victory, they set up camp along the way before dark falls.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this week was crazy, but i still got a bit more planned for this thing
> 
> anyway what even is armor idek or c

It isn’t unusual for soldiers to share their bedrolls on the march back home from battle. Dimitri has never done it before, but certainly he’s seen Sylvain slip into others’ tents or invite others to join him and he isn’t alone in the practice. The march back from Fort Merceus is a fairly long one and, though spirits are high after the victory, they set up camp along the way before dark falls.

As Prince, soon to be crowned King, he knows how it looks to ask someone to join him. But it isn’t unprecedented. He reminds himself of that repeatedly as he works up the nerve to go ahead and do it.

However, when he finally blurts out the request to Felix, Felix’s eyes just about jump out of his head.

“I— excuse me?” he stammers, his entire face going red from the tips of his ears to what shows of his neck.

“Will you share my bedroll?” Dimitri repeats, feeling his own face heat up. “Tonight?”

Felix stares down at the sword in his hands to avoid Dimitri’s face. His hands stumble back into the motion of cleaning the blood off the blade and the grooves of the hilt and he lowers his voice so much Dimitri has to lean down to hear him.

“For what  _ reason _ ?” he asks through gritted teeth. 

“For the pleasure of your company,” he says earnestly. “Nothing more.”

Felix wipes aggressively at an imaginary smudge on his blade. He sighs deeply through his nostrils and glances up, as though someone might be listening in although most everyone around them have busied themselves with securing the camp.

He expects a refusal, given the dark look on Felix’s face. Instead, Felix squints up at him, a wrinkle between his brows for his irritation.

“Fine,” he spits. “Now leave me alone. I’m busy.”

Dimitri blinks in surprise, then a second later his face splits into a grin. 

“Right,” he says, nodding. “Alright, then. I’ll see you for the evening meal?”

“ _ Leave _ , Dimitri.”

“Okay. Alright.”

— 

Dimitri doesn’t see Felix again until night falls. The professor and Sylvain join him around one of the fires they’ve built for their evening meals, but the camp is big and populated enough that Felix is buried somewhere in the crowd. That, or he’s hidden himself somewhere else.

Either way, he sees him once people have started turning down for bed. The lamps inside the tents go out one by one and the dying embers of the campfire leave only a soft glow of light, nowhere near enough to illuminate the grounds. Felix appears as if walking out of the shadows, his ears bright red in the dark and his eyes firmly glued to the toes of his boots.

Dimitri almost calls out to him in surprise, but he clamps his mouth shut and waits until Felix slips into his tent and lets the tarp flap shut behind him.

“You’re actually here!” he says, voice barely louder than a whisper.

“I am,” he says, sitting stiffly on the ground and starting the process of removing his boots. “Don’t ask what’s wrong with me because I don’t know.”

Dimitri gets down beside him, beginning to undo the straps of his armor. After a moment, Felix looks at him and huffs through his nose, reaching out to bat Dimitri’s hands away and undoing it himself with nimble fingers.

“You should have had a squire get you out of this, idiot.”

“I prefer not to.”

“ _ Why _ ?”

Dimitri bites his lip, watching Felix pull away his breastplate and his pauldrons. There is no specific reason he prefers not to. Sometimes, when Dimitri is wounded, Dedue helps him out of his armor. Truthfully, having people he doesn’t know so well coming in close to him and undressing him brings him back to a time he feels far removed from. Not since his days living at the royal palace in Fhirdiad has he had anyone to routinely help him with ordinary tasks like that.

Theoretically, he knows he must get used to it again eventually. But with the war still on, and things being the way they are… it just doesn’t feel right. 

“I don’t know,” he admits, placing the breastplate and pauldrons by his gauntlets and iron legs. “But I don’t much mind if it’s you.”

Felix’s eyes flicker up to meet his for a moment. He rolls them and shakes his head, turning his attention back onto his own armor. Dimitri waits a beat before reaching over to help him as well.

“Ah-ah,” Felix says, pulling away and narrowing his eyes sharply at him. “I don’t need you snapping or tearing anything.”

Dimitri pulls his hands back but presses his lips together, irritated. 

“Oh, please, Felix. I remove my own just fine.”

“ _ Yours _ is mostly metal, and I do not believe for a moment that you’ve never broken the straps.”

That, Dimitri can’t deny. He worries his lip under his teeth but stays silent. Felix takes that as confirmation, shaking his head in disapproval. He strips out of his armor until he’s left in nothing but his black undershirt and leggings, piling his things semi-neatly in the corner of the tent.

He looks at Dimitri uncertainly, then down at the bedroll.

“Sleeping?” he asks, sidling toward it.

“Sleeping,” Dimitri confirms, crawling closer on his knees and pulling the covers open. “I sleep better when you’re close by.”

Felix takes that as a good enough answer. Though he flushes from his hairline down to his shoulders, he slides into his half of the bedroll and watches Dimitri as he extinguishes the lamp and burrows in with him.

They lay for a while in the darkness and the quiet, listening to the sounds of people still settling in outside. In the distance, they hear the sounds of voices and the rustling of tents, but none close enough for Dimitri to decipher anything. He looks at Felix’s eyes in the dark. Without a light source he can hardly make them out, but he’s memorized the shape of Felix’s face so many times he knows exactly where to look. He can almost follow the elegant curve of his eyelids and the delicate brush of his eyelashes.

Felix is a beautiful man. Dimitri knows he has no interest in beauty, but objectively, he is a beautiful man. He bites his lip, feeling stiff and acutely aware of the heat of Felix’s body in the centimeter of space between them. He wants to trace a finger along the smooth curve of Felix’s cheek. His fingers twitch, but he doesn’t move them.

“Are you staring at me?” whispers Felix, tone slightly accusatory.

“It’s dark,” says Dimitri. “I can barely see.”

He knows that’s not an answer, but Felix doesn’t press. They fall silent a while longer, and Dimitri forces himself to stop staring and try to sleep instead.

The centimeter of space between them closes and Dimitri opens his good eye in alarm. Felix rolls onto his side with his back to Dimitri, but the entire length of his body fits up against him with no gaps. Dimitri’s heart climbs up into his throat and he almost opens his mouth to say something, but he doesn’t want to spoil the moment.

He turns onto his side as well so his body can curl around Felix’s. Felix feels stiff, his skin extraordinarily hot, but he doesn’t move even when Dimitri drapes an arm around his waist. Dimitri buries his nose and mouth against Felix’s smooth black hair and sighs against him.

Felix relaxes, fraction by fraction, and eventually his breathing goes slow and even. Dimitri listens to the soft huff of his breathing and basks in the rise and fall of his ribs against his arm and the beating of his heart against Dimitri’s chest.


End file.
